The Dead Pudding Incident
by Tyrne J
Summary: Weiß is sent on a mission with nothing to go on but two names and a project called "Dead Pudding"...


[Disclaimer and Author's Notes|  
This is a fanfiction, created for fans and entertainment purposes only. Weiß Kreuz belongs to Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiß, and it would be silly of me to take credit for their work.   
  
There are original characters here, but not really that many.   
  
I'd say that this was written as some sort of celebration that Weiß Kreuz's second season is out, and such like that. I *would* say it if it were solely responsible for this. But it isn't. I was sitting around pondering over the disappearance of my muses when one of them hit me with a phrase: Dead Pudding. And I still don't know where it really came from. The Weiß and Schwartz boys are just going to have to suffer. ::shrug::]  
  
  
  
The Dead Pudding Incident | WK  
  
The mold was still there. Omi Tsukiyono frowned a little at the little black spot that sat innocently atop a perfectly healthy green tulip leaf. Taking a step back, he looked underneath the leaf, pushing aside several stems of tulips to find no other signs of the little black mold occupying the tip of only one leaf in one of Youji Kudou's newer arrangements.   
  
"This one looks sick…" He muttered to himself as he picked out the affected plant. "Guess I'll have to find another…"  
  
"H-Hey! Wait a second, here!" An older, familiar voice called from the other end of the store. Omi looked up to see Youji crossing the store quickly, waving a pair of clippers around. "What are you doing to my arrangements?"  
  
"It's just one, and this looks like it's got something. See?" The younger worker held the leaf up to prove his point. "I'm going to see if there's anything else that we could put in its place."  
  
Youji looked at the leaf, a little disappointed that there was a legitimate reason for Omi to tear up the tulip setting. "… You still have to put back the others, though…"  
  
"It's closing time, anyway," A softer voice joined the conversation, and Aya Fujimiya reached between the two to pick up the tulip vase. "We also have a visitor." He turned his head to give each of them a meaningful look.   
  
"A-ah."  
  
"Guess this means the tulips will have to wait."  
  
__  
  
Manx looked around at her kittens, the four members of Weiß Kreuz, with her usual impassive stare.   
  
"Hello, boys. I have something interesting for you tonight."  
  
"Really, now…" Youji raised an eyebrow from where he relaxed on the sofa, arms slung over the back edge and feet propped up on the coffee table in front of him.   
  
The Kritiker agent twitched a little, but continued, reaching toward the VCR to play the latest message from Persia.  
  
"You're going to need to do your own research on this one, I'm afraid."  
  
__  
  
"That's all we get? Two names, and some project called 'Dead Pudding'?" Ken Hidaka ran his fingers through his hair and sighed at the single sheet of paper sitting on the coffee table in front of him. "And what's this about pure investigation? I thought we were an assassin group."  
  
"You *did* accept the mission, Ken." Omi pointed out while he stared at his own sheet of paper. "And I think this is actually up our alley." He leaned forward from his spot on the floor to point at an underlined name on Ken's data sheet.   
  
"Analyn Berato. Our target. It says that she disappeared from the WhiteOwl Corporation's R and D department about half a year ago, six months after her research partner, Cecil Winton, was institutionalized."   
  
Aya frowned. "It says nothing here about any real target; there's just her name."  
  
At this, the youngest Weiß sighed. "I know, but why would Kritiker give us this mission if there was no target? There are other organizations in Kritiker…"  
  
"Well, there's no sense debating over the target," Youji rose slowly from the sofa and stretched, reaching into his back jeans pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. "You heard the lady before: We'll have to do some research. Maybe they're hoping we'll figure out the target by then."  
  
Ken made a face. "Uh-*huh*." He made a half-hearted swipe at Youji's lighter, which was then making its way toward a new cigarette. "So, what else do we have on this Berato lady?"  
  
__  
  
She stepped carefully over the puddle of oil that dribbled out from under the overworked and outdated Honda, and paused a moment to chew on a bent unlit cigarette.   
  
"Damn." The word echoed softly down the dark alley, accompanied by the steady drip of the Honda's oil.   
  
The far-off sound of a siren made her look back towards the entrance to the dead-end alley, and something akin to a snort puffed out from between her lips and the cigarette.  
  
"A little ironic, isn't it, Cecil?"  
  
Her voice, a little louder now, came out as a hoarse whisper. Half-hidden in the alley shadows, a small smile formed across a darkened face.  
  
Across the street from the alley entrance, the small church rang a midnight tune, its muffled bells hidden by the approaching siren.  
  
__  
  
Bradley Crawford opened his eyes to the sound of a wailing ambulance, and the irritated muttering of the man sitting next to him at the kitchen table.  
  
"Dammit, don't they ever *shut up*? Worse than people…" Schuldich rubbed at his ears as he mumbled over the top of his bottle of beer. "… Should be a law against them…"  
  
Blinking in an effort to get rid of the fog blocking his vision, Crawford slowly turned his head to face the redhead, but offered no reply.  
  
Not that it was needed. The look on both men's faces could best be described as 'dazed', applicable for even Schwartz's coldhearted leader.  
  
"Nnn… Hey, Crawford… " Now the German's head was on the table, facing away from the intended subject, but addressing him anyway.   
  
There was no response.  
  
"Crawford…?"  
  
"… What?"  
  
"Where's the boy?"  
  
A moment of silence. "Nagi. He's doing homework."  
  
"Ah." Schuldich seemed satisfied with this answer to a question he never really cared about in the first place, and continued to rest his head on the table. Something was odd about this situation, and the German now attempted to focus on what exactly the problem was.  
  
"In his room."  
  
"… Ah." It probably had something to do about the previous night. The redhead still made no move to move his head from the table, though he shifted a little to lift some pressure from his nose.  
  
Crawford was silent, now staring forward, still trying to blink away the fog in front of him. A finger tapped slowly, evenly, against the table.  
  
"So." What had happened that night? Something to do with – no, not the girl from the bar, later – oh, but there was beer. Schuldich smiled a little at the mention of beer. But that was not the problem. "Where's the lunatic?"  
  
More silence. Then, "Out. Hunting clergymen."  
  
That was yesterday. He would be back by now, right? Schuldich did, on occasion, credit the Irishman for his sense of timing.   
  
"Crawford?"  
  
"…"  
  
"Where're you?"  
  
"…"  
  
Ah. The problem. Slitted eyes stared at the far counter, where an empty coffee machine sat quietly, the shattered remains of its pitcher mopped up behind it.   
  
Oh, yeah. The reason Farafello had gone out hunting in the first place. Even the lunatic recognized the importance of staying away from Crawford's coffee machine.   
  
Schuldich sighed. "Guess this means I gotta go…" Find a coffee joint, was what he meant to say, but as he pulled himself from the table, his legs gave out, and he remembered the rest before he hit the floor.  
  
/Well, even a guy like him needs to binge like that... Wouldn't be interesting if he didn't…/  
  
__  
  
The poor man was bolting the doors, now. He had to giggle a little. What a waste.   
  
He was just about to pull out a thin dagger to poke at the lock, when something caught the corner of his eye, and he dashed to the nearest shadow.  
  
One eye widened a little at the figure that pulled itself from the alley across the street, and intrigued, Farafello replaced his dagger into a random pocket. Behind the wooden church doors, the heavy breathing of the young man reached his ears, but for once, he ignored it, tracking the dark figure that stole away from the alley.  
  
She looked a little interesting. 


End file.
